


Within range of vision

by livinginadaydream (orphan_account)



Category: Disney RPF, Jonas Brothers
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, Medieval AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-25
Updated: 2010-08-25
Packaged: 2017-10-13 11:55:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/137075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/livinginadaydream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She holds a staff in her hands, thin and round, iron-black dragon's head sitting on top, emerald, glinting eyes. It's settled beside her bare feet, and goes up along her black-lace shrouded legs. There's fire in the background, and he tries to clear his head. As he does, he realizes the fire is all around, surrounding the men, surrounding her in a circle. Part of some symbolic ritual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Within range of vision

Chest rising and falling beneath black silk and fine, transparent lace, a smile curls slowly on her face, lips parting and jutting out as the rest of her face goes tight around her beautifully pronounced cheek bones. He watches as some of the men, kneeling on one knee with their heads bowed down, shiver when they peer up at her. Her long, black hair drapes down her back, over her shoulders in waves, and her skin is an olive that can't be won by the sun, but by token luck at birth.

She holds a staff in her hands, thin and round, iron-black dragon's head sitting on top, emerald, glinting eyes. It's settled beside her bare feet, and goes up along her black-lace shrouded legs. There's fire in the background, and he tries to clear his head. As he does, he realizes the fire is all around, surrounding the men, surrounding her in a circle. Part of some symbolic ritual. Their devotion to her for the rest of eternity. He can see how easily she must have lured them into her grasp. It's likely she didn't even need to use sorcery, may not possess it, definitely not without her stave.

There are two. One with hair as black as the scales of the most petrifying wyvern. It cascades into his eyes, tapering around his face, skin tone similar to that of the woman at the heart of the room. The other, beside him, has a head of curls, brown, shadowed by the darkness of the room. Both sets of eyes are turned down to the floor, large, clay bricks of titian. It takes a shudder of the man, a scar down his right eye, to rattle them out of their trance, focused and terrified, staring at the ground. They both feel a bit numb, and like they're breaking through a wall, but they turn to look at each other, noses similar and eyes the same distance apart, brown and gazing.

The one with the longer hair gives a hardly noticeable nod; he's older, protective, trying to provide reassurance. The younger brother bites his lower lip, and then there's an abrupt clash of metal against stone. Both pairs of eyes widen and their gaze returns back to the floor. He's leaning in, or trying, sweat beads forming on his brow with the effort, but he can't get close enough to his older sibling. Without a touch, without feeling, he's lost and alone. Another layer settles over them, and mindlessly both boys, the entire circle of men raise their eyes.

From a thick, wooden door in the corner of the exorbitant, stone-built room emerges another woman. She's younger with golden-auburn hair that stretches an inch passed her waist at it's longest point, just passed her breasts where it hangs near the front of her face. Gold coins, lusterless, surround her chest, her skin tanned from where she once worked in fields, amongst the dust beneath the glaring sun, seeming more rich against the color. Around her wrists are golden shackles, chain strung and hooked between them, enough distance so that she can hold up the wooden, deep bowl in her hands, enough to put them at her sides when it's been taken from her. Her waist is kept hidden, barely, by much larger golden coins which drape strings of beads and leather down her lengthy legs. Her eyes, stunning, are powdered with a golden dust, and she looks as gone as every man in the room.

It's through the fire she walks, and as she enters the circle, steps passed the men and makes her way to the middle, bowl - full of liquid, blood red - cradled in her palms, it's with shiny skin, oil covering her body. It must be what had protected her from the flames. Once the bowl is taken, the woman whose magic has besotted the chamber puts it to her lips with one hands and drinks, pulling it away from her mouth with lips stained red. The younger girl obediently accepts the empty bowl and turns to leave when a hand clutches her forearm and pulls her back. She stares back before lips are forced upon hers, and stands completely still as her mouth is licked into, quiescent, unaware.

When they part, there's the smear only blood could make, across her lips where they were pushed open. She walks away, step sure and predestined.

He sees her lips moving, but he is without sound, without the ability to determine which spell she is surely casting. His eyes roll forward in defeat and he gasps deeply for air, instinct only providing him with as much oxygen as one needs in order to stay alive.

"I want her," he says, and then takes the leather strap handed to him, pulls his hair half back. Blue eyes stone cold and hair shoulder-length, brown with lighter tones throughout, he sits on his throne, won through fear, his power as a seer.


End file.
